The snowfall had eased.
But the battle raged on.
At the forest's edge, Paul sliced through the swarming monsters like a whirlwind of steel. Sword winds tore up snowdrifts and scattered mangled corpses in his wake as he charged forward like a human meat grinder.
"The barrier's been broken!!"
"Over here too!"
"They're chewing through the tree trunks!"
An hour ago, the monsters had stopped ramming the barrier directly. Instead, to avoid being slaughtered by Paul, they'd shifted their focus to gnawing the trees anchoring the barrier line. The net was fastened between the forest's massive trunks—once the trees began to fall, the collapse of the barrier was inevitable.
Fortunately, many monsters were still attacking each other, following animal instinct rather than any real strategy.
But even so, Paul was overwhelmed.
There was no one else guarding the opposite end of the barrier. Unlike his days as an adventurer—when he could rely on Ghislaine for offense and Elinalise for defense, with even his own wife pitching in with healing—this time he was alone. Holding the entire defensive line by himself was exhausting.
He slashed through a snow mound piled against the fence, severing the cluster of monsters within. Screeches echoed as blood sprayed—but then came another scream from behind.
Paul spun around, ready to help—but before he could move, he saw something that made his stomach twist.
From the mound he'd just cleared, a swarm of crimson eyes emerged once more.
"Damn it."
He gritted his teeth and hacked down the charging monsters, but his step faltered—his foot nearly slipped.
He was running on empty.
His battle aura had been depleted.
Face grim, Paul took quick stock of his condition. Three hours of relentless fighting, one wave after another… His body was crying out for rest.
For a brief moment, he found himself desperately missing Ghislaine and Zenith.
Just then, a long creak rang out, followed by panicked shouting. Paul's pupils shrank—he turned toward the source of the cries.
In that instant, the scene burned into his vision:
A massive tree trunk—thick as a grown man's embrace—had snapped at the base. Covered in writhing giant rats and sawtooth hares, it began toppling southward, dragging the attached barrier down with it. The monsters on the trunk leapt off mid-fall, creating a grotesque rain of fangs and claws.
Below them, the villagers stared upward in horror.
"Get back!!"
Paul roared, twisting his sword and preparing to launch a Sword God-style charge—only to halt mid-step.
Instead of lunging forward, a smile—relieved and slightly amused—crossed his face.
He pivoted, cutting down the monsters flanking him instead.
The tree hadn't hit the ground yet. The monsters were still suspended in midair.
And in that moment, a figure emerged from thin air—squeezed into existence right in front of the panicking villagers.
It was Allen.
His hand on the hilt, eyes narrowed, Allen watched the descending monsters with a quiet, chilling calm. Razor-sharp incisors gleamed among the rats and rabbits as they fell. The wind howled from all directions. The monsters' rancid drool hung in the air, the ambient noise reduced to an eerie, high-pitched ring—air pressure still rippling past his ears.
Snowflakes spun before his eyes, spreading their six-pronged wings as if welcoming him.
A year had passed.
Even if his [Main Event Participation Score] had stagnated, Allen's power had never stopped growing.
One of the Five Secret Techniques of the Water God Style—[Perception Flow].
In this heightened state of awareness, Allen made his move.
His voice was lazy and soft, slow as ever.
"[Twenty-Fold Slash]."
The moment he spoke, a chorus of buzzing tore through the air. The falling monsters, once dense as a swarm, seemed to dissolve like morning mist struck by sunlight after snowfall.
A shower of blood erupted in midair, and the sky cleared.
Through the parting rain, Allen could now see the tree trunk.
[Perception Flow] was still active. The world around him moved like slow-motion film. The tree continued its descent, and more monsters were swarming along its length toward him.
His pupils tracked the falling trunk overhead.
Then he moved.
Climbing.
He lunged through the bloodstorm and scaled the trunk.
[Four Legged Form].
The fight was already planned out.
Allen shed [Perception Flow]—it had served its purpose.
His body blurred. As the trunk descended, he brushed a hand along its side—then, in an instant, like a panther, he clung to the wood with all four limbs.
The trunk hadn't even hit the ground before he exploded into motion—like a wild beast let loose. As he shot forward, monsters burst like overripe fruit in his wake, splattering into mist.
Boom.
The tree finally struck the ground—but no monsters remained atop it.
Allen didn't fall with it. Springing upward, limbs coiled like a predator's, he soared high into the sky.
Then came the descent.
Dragon-Saint Aura Boost — [Avalanche Drop]!
Battle aura exploded outward in a shockwave centered on Allen. Snow heaved upward, then crashed down again—spreading in waves like wind rippling through wheat fields.
At the center of it all, Allen hit the monster horde like a crimson meteor.
The snow around him turned black with blood.
Like scarlet ink dropped into a lake of white, the impact turned a twenty-meter radius into a deadzone—an eerily still blood-lake, steaming in the frigid air.
At the lake's center, Allen rose, blood trickling down his arms and shoulders.
He kicked at a mound beside him.
A few limp, deflated rabbit-rat corpses rolled out, spilling blood onto the snow.
The [Avalanche Drop] had pulverized their bones.
From Allen's arrival to the total annihilation of the monsters—less than ten seconds had passed.
This was the power of a Saint-ranked warrior.
The stench of blood radiated outward, thick enough to feel tangible. With the network of monster tunnels acting as natural vents, the scent carried deep into the forest.
A little blood might drive monsters berserk.
But this—a sudden, overwhelming wave of their kin's blood—triggered only one instinct:
Fear.
Somewhere deep in their primitive brains, they didn't see a man.
They saw a natural disaster.
And what does a beast do in the face of a calamity?
It runs.
In the time it takes to breathe, the monsters made their decision. In the stunned eyes of the villagers, the snowdrifts at the forest's edge surged and retreated, heading back into the depths.
Disaster cannot be fought.
So they fled.
Paul, watching from afar, blinked in confusion as the monsters he'd been fighting suddenly turned tail.
Then the smell hit him.
Thick. Metallic. Bloody.
He understood immediately.
Leaning wearily against a tree, he looked toward the center of the blood-lake.
Allen looked back at him from across the red-stained snow.
They exchanged a smile.
Cheers erupted behind them.
Villagers rushed into the bloody field, hoisting Allen out of the gore and tossing him high into the air in celebration.
He didn't resist.
While suspended midair, Allen cast a glance toward the direction he'd come from.
Beyond the blood lake, three figures finally arrived, panting heavily.
Laws looked utterly exasperated.
Sylphy was puffing her cheeks in frustration.
Rudeus wore a face of absolute resentment.
"ALLEN!!"
As his name was shouted, he was tossed again—up into the air, the scarlet lake beneath him churning snow and blood together like a ritual offering.
It felt less like a victory celebration and more like a cult summoning their dark god.
In the air, Allen's cloak billowed behind him. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow and quickly averted his eyes from Sylphy's glaring stare, thoroughly flustered.
...Why did I even run just now? My body just reacted on instinct. Weird. I admit I do miss Roxy—every time I write to her, I feel it—so Rudeus's face made sense. And okay, maybe Sylphy's just jealous that I correspond with her teacher so often. But what the hell was with Laws's expression??
Did I do something to him??
So weird.
...Good thing I ran.